Hello again! My apologies for not updating earlier. I had another story idea and really, really wanted to get that one written and posted as well on the same day as this chapter.
In case you are interested, the story is over at my second account Elfinmyth and called 'Through another heart'. HPLV as always, Hurt/Comfort & Angst with T-rating this time.
Now the self-promotion is over, thank you to everyone who left a review ont he previous chapter and a shoutout to my Bètas!

Enjoy

Chapter fourteen - Resurrection

The clouds shifted at last, giving way to silver light that streamed down across the soft grass of the hill upon which they stood. It shimmered on the headstones, finding its way into every nook and cranny that was not occupied by deeper shadows. Harry looked up to the sky, the small village not emitting enough light to drown out the brilliance of the stars here as it did in London. He was surprised at the view still: the height of summer was over, the air that had resonated with heat for weeks cooled now by summer storms that had clouded the skies for days. He shivered lightly as a cold wind picked up, some of the clothes he was wearing not entirely dry, the large downside of not having packed for a long stay before arriving.

Harry stood back as Barty double-checked every single symbol and relic to ensure they were perfect. Slabs of wood had been laid out in a circle around the entire hill, carved, inked and enchanted to form a ward. Spell bottles stood around to ward off any negative influences that could affect the ritual, and a large cauldron stood right next to the grave of Voldemort's father. A sense of determination filled him, reflected by the one he carried in his arms at the moment. The wizard was silent, not wasting any further words on the ritual, having given all necessary instructions long beforehand. It would be quite different than what Harry had experienced until now. The magic that was at work had been planned out and prepared to such a degree that hardly any further words and not a single incantation were necessary to complete it. He stared dubiously at the inky blackness that filled the cauldron to the brim, no fire burning anymore. Still, the cooled liquid moved, glittery spells bound to the potion, ready to activate when the ingredients would be added that would serve as basis for the transformation.

Barty returned and dipped his head. ''My Lord, it is time.''

''Very well.'' Voldemort smiled, his voice attaining a raspy quality, glee jumping through the link. Harry certainly hoped that the ritual would fix the unstable bonds between them too. The combination of unfamiliar emotions, the pain in his scar and never knowing when he'd find himself in the man's head again had been enough to deal with for a couple of weeks, it was time that would end. Which reminded Harry that he'd never actually asked about how that was incorporated into it all.

''Evan?'' At Barty's questioning tone, Harry nodded and stepped forward until he stood in front of the cauldron. The man waved his wand, the stones around them beginning to glow wherever a rune had been placed: for stability, safe travel, strength, immortality and many more that Harry could not recall. The air hummed with their magic.

The Death Eater then raised his wand once more and wordlessly cracked open the air in front of his feet, the splintering of wood was to be heard and a trickle of white dust that glowed in the moonlight rose from its grave. ''Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.''

It sank into the potion without making a sound, as if consumed by a void, a void that started swirling now. The man then drew two items out of the pockets of his robes, a flash of bright red colouring the night. ''Core of wand and wood of old, you will serve your master.''

Harry tightened his grip on the lithe form as he knew what was to come. Barty strode forward without concern and held out his arm. ''Flesh of the devotee, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your Lord'' With a muffled cry, Barty cut off three of his fingers, which were gulped up eagerly by the potion.

Resolve still filling him, Harry went towards the cauldron, shifting Voldemort so that the man was held up by his left arm as he too stuck out his wand hand. He hissed as the knife slit easily through the back of his arm. He spoke his own line now, in Parseltongue as instructed: ~Blood of the bound, blood of the killer, blood of former enemy willingly offered, you will right the wrong.~ He gasped as the droplets lit up like teardrops before being swallowed up by the potion, turning it a deep red instead.

With a painful arm, he unwrapped Voldemort from his blanket and raised the pale body over the cauldron, the nearly translucent, pearly skin shining brightly as it reflected the moon. ~Soul tied to this earth, preserved by ancient magic, you shall have your body returned to you.~ Careful not to touch the potion himself, Harry lowered the rudimentary body into the cauldron, slight fear filling him as he reluctantly let the head slip in as well so Voldemort was entirely submerged. He stepped back quickly as the liquid began to froth and foam, bubbling up as if a fire was being stoked under the cauldron's belly. The iron walls melted away and the potion sprung up like an out-of-control fountain, ever-changing shape, becoming a mass that was neither liquid nor solid, an abhorrent in-between that reminded him of slimy substances best left forgotten in dark caves and cellars.

He wanted to run as the dark red stretched and thinned, changed colour, at one point being a sickly green-greyish goo. Then, a shape that was clearly a hand shot out, and Harry started to recognise other outlines as well as Voldemort twisted and turned, being one with the potion and at the same time inside of it, trying to break through the film that contained him. One side of the slime formed an arched, sharp spine, while the top shaped itself to form a head, the colour paling further until it turned as white as the bone dust and yew wood they'd offered.

Harry's mouth dried up as his breath sped away, awed as he witnessed Voldemort's adaptation of a rite that was far beyond the level of magic that he'd imagined ever seeing. That seemed to have become a constant in the Dark Lord's presence, being so surrounded with spells and rituals he had never even thought possible existing. His years at Hogwarts were bland in comparison, learning only singular spells and potions every week. Harry understood only now how Hermione had been so caught up in reading the underlying theories of incantations they were taught. It felt like he'd wasted three entire years in terms of education.

At long last, the form that had come forth from the cauldron became fully human in shape, the rippling surface settling, turning into gleaming skin. Two feet touched down on the grass, too bony and long for any human, yet undeniably fully formed. Harry gazed at the -admittedly terrifying- form of Lord Voldemort, eyes trailing up quivering calves that hadn't yet adapted to their own muscles, over the heaving ribcage where skin was stretched so taunt over bone that he saw the heart pulsing beneath, up the angular collarbones and pale, slender neck to finally settle on the face, which was both well-known and unfamiliar at once. The basic features of the embryonic form were all still there: bald head, ophic nostrils, lipless mouth and burning crimson eyes, now set in a face that was undeniably older and larger. He couldn't say that it looked masculine, with high cheekbones and a sharp but not exactly square jaw line. Harry's gaze flickered south briefly and his cheeks instantaneously burned when seeing that the proof of Voldemort's masculinity was certainly present elsewhere.

The Dark Lord fell to his knees, oddly fluid and graceful even when Harry knew it was due to not being able to control his new body yet. He rushed forward, holding Voldemort's robe as Barty still clutched his bleeding hand with missing fingers. Harry's own wound wasn't quite as deep, although the blood still seeped down, making him conscious of having to be careful not to let any of it soil the Dark Lord's clothing. He walked quickly around the man, who was touching his own face now, exploring his body unabashedly as if he were entirely alone, keen noises slipping past his lips. Slowly, Harry lowered the robe over Voldemort's shoulders, who snapped his head to the side in a motion that reminded Harry totally of Nagini. The gaze captured his eyes and Harry was lost, drawn in, lowering himself to his knees. A spidery hand came up to grasp the robe that now covered a bony shoulder. Without knowing why, Harry reached out and softly splayed his fingers atop it.

No pain came this time as Voldemort's senses rushed in. There was only a feeling of being overwhelmed, being dragged down deep corridors, being swallowed up by the earth and cast out into a void. Electricity raced through Harry's veins as Voldemort's magic touched his, enveloping him fully and pulling his soul apart. It was too much, too much to take but at the same time so wonderful. He was himself, gasping and curling up against the side of the most powerful person he'd ever met, and at the same time, he was that person, newly awoken in a body that thrilled him, knowing that his papery white skin and hairless, gaunt limbs were proof of his power, proof which he was proud to display for all the world to see, so that every magician who would come eye-to-eye with him would know of his might.

Slowly, Harry was untangled again, physically and mentally, startled as he found himself still fixed by Voldemort's gaze and, what was more, pinned into place by a surprisingly strong arm that held him steady. Harry's heart started beating wildly as he realised what position he was in, pushed up flush against the Dark Lord's side. ''I'm so sorry,'' he started, eyes wide. ''I... I didn't mean to. Your magic was just so.. so...''

''Evan, you're stuttering, stop it,'' the man commanded. It took a moment for Harry to realise that it was Voldemort who had spoken, not in the hissy, high voice he'd come to expect, but a rich low timbre that sounded like it should have come from someone with far broader shoulders than the skinny man he lay against possessed. Now he thought about it, the quality of tone vaguely reminded him of when Voldemort had started to sing at Lughnasadh.

''Yes, Sir'' he replied, more meekly than he'd wanted to, starting to stand up and away from the Dark Lord, throwing an angry glare at Barty who, despite the obvious pain he was in, looked like he was about to burst out into peals of laughter at Harry's expense. Slowly, Voldemort rose, slipping his arms through the sleeves and wrapping the robe fully around him, looking impossibly tall as he stood next to Harry, who barely reached up to his chest. No wonder people had been intimidated by this man. He positively towered over anyone Harry had ever known apart from Hagrid.

''Bartemius, my wand.'' Harry watched in fascination as Barty carried the wand over and offered it to his Lord's outstretched hand. Long fingers took it, first in a rather awkward grip before shifting to a more natural position. The wand reacted, the ground shaking beneath their feet as power was pumped through their surroundings. ''Perfect,'' Voldemort uttered, sounding pleased. A warmth coiled in Harry's chest again, as if a beast was purring inside.

''Sir, the link...'' he spoke, unsure of himself. ''It's still there. It feels even stronger.''

Voldemort blinked down upon him and raised his barely distinguishable, thin eyebrows, the only other hair that had grown on his body apart from a few short eyelashes. ''Naturally,'' he spoke. ''I explained to you during the blood-bonding ritual that that would be nothing compared to what we would have now. How did you conclude that our connection would vanish? The only matter I was trying to purge was the sacrificial protection in your blood, which has worked.'' Harry flinched slightly as Voldemort struck out and pressed a finger directly over his scar. The expected skull-splitting sensation didn't come. ''I can touch you now.''

Harry frowned. For some reason, he really had expected that after Voldemort's resurrection, he wouldn't feel all those emotions anymore. His mind raced, but he could find no memories of Voldemort actually saying that to him. It seemed he had jumped to wrong conclusions all on his own. ''I thought..'' he started, feeling lost, ''that we were also trying to get rid of the visions and such.''

''Ah, that. Well yes, with your protection gone, the connection is definitely more stable, perhaps that is what you confused it up with? I have as much control now as you do, balancing it out and not allowing anymore for... slip-ups into each other's minds.'' Harry released a relieved sigh at that.

''That's great. I mean, not that it was awful in your head or anything, but... it wasn't great to wake up to your anger you know?''

Voldemort merely gave him a wry smile, then approached Barty. ''Give me your arm, Bartemius.'' With a radiant smile that betrayed all of Barty's feelings, the Death Eater raised his left arm, pushing back the sleeve with his mutilated hand to proudly reveal the Dark Mark. A soft chuckle escaped from Voldemort's lips. ''Your other arm.''

''Oh!'' Barty looked surprised and entirely fascinated as he offered his mangled hand. Without a care for the blood, Voldemort placed it in his own right palm and pointed his wand upwards, giving a wave. The air thickened and formed a silvery mass which split in three, forming perfect fingers that attached themselves seamlessly to Barty's stumps. ''My Lord, I thank you,'' Barty rasped.

''Lord Voldemort always rewards his faithful.'' Then, he turned back to Harry. ''Which, of course, also goes for you.'' At the command of one crooked finger, Harry was drawn towards the others again, feeling as if he were floating as a clawed hand took his arm, the magic that raced close across the man's skin giving him goosebumps. Instead of healing the gash, the same silvery substance filled the wound, giving the look of a gleaming metal scar. ''It will heal normally in time,'' Voldemort muttered. ''As you caused this wound for such a heavy ritual, it is not wise to speed up the process. You should take care to hide it from others until it is gone.''

''Well, good thing there aren't any other people here right now,'' Harry managed to said with a smile, which fell as the hand released him and Voldemort frowned.

''While true, there is little over a week left before you should return to Hogwarts and we can hardly make a trip to Diagon Alley. I recommend that you leave to the house of one of your friends, perhaps. You have done all that I asked of you.''

''So... what, that's it then, just like that?'' he asked incredulously. ''I've done my task and now I should go?''

''I had assumed that you'd wish to be released?'' the Dark Lord spoke, studying Harry's face. ''Were you not eager to contact your friends and return to Hogwarts after all of my awful experiments were over?''

''Well, that is... that was before!'' he exclaimed, wondering how he could make the man see what he felt. ''Before I made the choice of fully supporting you! I didn't want to be sent away...'' he looked up desperately at Voldemort, trying to convey what he wanted.

''I thought I had been understandable enough with my compromise. I made it abundantly clear that I wished for you to not involve yourself too much, you agreed to listen to my orders. That includes the one about trying to stay inconspicuous, to leave and stay out of the conflict as much as you can, for both of us have too much to lose in you fighting for me.'' Harry's face fell further. Chewing on his lips, he realised that he was letting his feelings get the better of him. He looked up to the intimidating figure that towered over him and raised a hand up to Harry's cheek. The teen released a shaky breath as the tips of Voldemort's long, sharp nails raked across his skin, a blazing trail of magic in their wake that made him forget everything on the world. ''Ah, you and Bartemius are so alike, craving magic and freedom.'' Harry looked at his shoes the instant Voldemort turned away.

''My Lord, if I may?'' Barty suddenly cut in, marching up to Harry at his Lord's nod. One stinging slap later, Harry was tumbling backwards, eyes wide with shock. ''Kid, you're seriously testing my patience,'' he growled. ''Either you obey our Lord or not. If you hadn't noticed, whether you want to help or not, you have to leave in either case so this entire discussion you're trying to put up is pointless. I get how you feel Evan, I don't want to leave either, but if I'm being told to go, then I do so without struggling. That is what it means to follow.''

''That.. I only wanted-''

''You want to help, yes? Then play your part, return to your friends and act like you had the most boring summer ever despite getting rid of those Muggles for a while. Keep the secrets of our Lord's return close to your heart, keep your mouth and mind shut about it. You should be a bit more grateful to our Lord for-''

''Bartemius, that's enough.'' the Dark Lord calmly interrupted. The Death Eater instantly stepped back again and bowed, staying silent, as if the words had physically snapped him into place. It was both creepy and admirable, the extent of Barty's unquestioning loyalty. ''I am the one who should express my gratitude today, and I will. Let us return to the manor for now, it is not like you need to pack up this instant.'' Harry walked over to some of the spell bottles to pick them up, when they disappeared in front of his eyes. It made him very proud that he was able to stop himself from gaping like a fish when in one -wandless- flick, Voldemort just casually made every trace of their presence here disappear within a second, the symbols fading into the stones, the wet grass drying up, the grave closing. There was no way that those hadn't been multiple spells cast at once...

Instantly upon opening the door, Nagini flung herself at her master, hissing wildly and not letting go of his legs until he carried her inside. It was only from the hissed conversation after that Harry realised that Nagini had never seen Voldemort's previous form, and he wondered how old she actually was. She'd mentioned before that she hadn't been born yet when Voldemort had been with Regulus. Harry pulled a face as the thought hit him and he was reminded of that little detail again. The combination with his own humiliating actions of practically cuddling up to a near-naked Dark Lord in the graveyard made it even much worse. He tried to think of painting the bricks in Privet drive to distract himself from any topic that wasn't abhorrently dull.

Harry settled down on the rug in front of the fireplace as Nagini was still very busy with obsessively clamping down on Voldemort, not looking like she had any need for the fire anytime soon. ''Well then, now we are in a more comfortable environment, we should go over the plan I had in mind for you.'' Harry let himself fall down on his back, entirely relaxed. Barty muttered something about being disrespectful but both Harry and Voldemort ignored it. Harry had the feeling that, as Voldemort's Horcrux, he could get away with quite a lot. ''First and foremost, you are to choose a suitable place around wizards who have contact to Dumbledore where you can remain for the rest of the holidays.''

''The Weasleys, that's easy, I was supposed to go there for a while anyways, I completely missed it because of my idiotic plan.''

''Good to know you can admit to your foolishness at times.'' Harry threw a half-hearted glare at the wizard. ''Very well, the Weasleys then. You do not need to make any direct contact with Dumbledore. Knowing how he operates, I am certain that the Weasleys will send him a letter as soon as you arrive. Your excuse has been accounted for: after your cousin beat you up once again, you fled the house and ran into a French witch who had been sightseeing.''

''Sightseeing in Little Whinging?'' he disbelievingly laughed. ''Was she interested in Muggle letter boxes and middle-class cars?''

''As a matter of fact, yes. This particular woman just finished her sixth year at Beauxbatons -the French school of Witchcraft and Wizardry- and did a summer project studying Muggle behaviour in England to prepare for an event that will be held in Britain this year.''

''What kind of event? You're not referring to the World cup are you?''

''No, it would not have made much sense to study Muggles only a week before the Quidditch cup if that had been the case. A Tournament is taking place at Hogwarts, involving the three largest European magical schools. To safely travel, the staff at Beauxbatons wished to study which wards are set up against Muggles in this country, as they might interfere with their own spells. They used it as an excuse to send several students over already and study both the Muggle population and the barriers put in place here. If Dumbledore is to be believed, the area around your home happens to have some very unique wards. And secrets, no matter how well-guarded, can sometimes... slip.''

A vague recollection of thoughts entered Harry's mind. Had the man mentioned this Tournament before? Or had it been in one of the visions? In either case, his memories of it were rather muddled. Then, his thought process stopped upon realising something else: ''Wait, you knew where I lived all along?''

''It's not as if you were under a Fidelius charm there, it wasn't hard for me to track you down. Dumbledore entirely relied on the sacrificial protection to keep me out. Not entirely certain how he thought that worked either. I can understand his line of thought in that the offering of your mother could be strengthened while there so I could not harm you as much in your close proximity... and yet, it is not as if the house your aunt lives in has a protective bubble just because she resides in there. If anything, it only directly worked when being near her in that moment.''

''I tried to avoid her as best as possible so that's quite a rubbish thing then.''

''I'm sure he relied on the fact that you are blood-related and they thus have to care about you in some form in his mind.'' Voldemort's mouth twisted. ''For all I know of his own family, it is quite disturbing that he thinks that family bonds mean you have to love each other. I will not go further into the old fool's troubling teenage years now though. To continue with the plan, this witch took pity on you when she saw how you lived and offered to take you with on her trip so you could guide her around a bit. As such, you never stayed in one place for long, explaining why you only occasionally answered post and could not be tracked down.''

It sounded believable enough, and yet... ''The downside of this whole story is that if those students from Beauxbatons actually come to Hogwarts, Dumbledore could interrogate them and he'd find out that nothing of it is true as this witch doesn't exist and none of those students actually met me.''

''Ah, but this witch does exist. Dixie Heloise Étourneau, turned seventeen last June, born and raised in the small Wizarding community of Cazenac, located on the outskirts of the Muggle village Beynac-et-Cazenac in Dordogne. She passed all of her courses with good to excellent marks apart from potions, and is especially fond of magical creatures and plants. I will give you a notebook containing details that might have come up in conversations, had you actually spent over a month travelling with her. Naturally, convincing pictures are included of you and her. Barty has tracked her down and implanted false memories of your travels, plus several compulsion charms that will give her the desire to protect you and be friendly towards you to not arise suspicion.''

Harry tried his best to hide his astonishment. ''You... I had no idea that you had time for something like that! How long has this been in planning for?''

''Did you really expect that I'd just let you wing it after you barged in here and declared yourself to be Harrison Black in Parseltongue?'' Harry felt his cheeks flushing and blamed it on the fireplace. ''At any rate, you need not worry if you stick to the story, plus you might find it handy to have an ally in a foreign school already. The compulsions will wear off eventually, so I recommend replacing those with real friendship. Alternatively, you could blame them wearing off on drifting apart if you find her to be of disagreeable character.''

''Only you would come up with magically compelling a person to like me just to have a good cover story,'' Harry noted, slightly uncomfortable with that fact. Barty had spoken quite clearly of how horrible it was to not be in control of himself for all those years.

''I will do anything to achieve my goals. Parts of my grand plans are keeping you safe and leaving Dumbledore in the dark. Enchanting a single person is hardly the worst I could have done. She will be left no worse for wear afterwards.'' Harry found that the words sounded a bit too defensive, it wasn't as if he'd wanted to accuse Voldemort of anything. Curious, he tried to mentally reach out just like the other had done to test the link a few days ago, trying to send a comforting wave. Whether by his doing or not, Voldemort relaxed again.

''Understood, I'll already try to read a bit of the notebook in the morning, before I... before I go. How do I explain not knowing any French after a month though?'' he asked, suddenly worried. Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

''You're British,'' he spoke as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world. ''Enough of that. Let us talk about your compensation... name a reward and I shall see if I can gift it to you.''

Harry's mind drew an instant blank. He could choose anything? He'd expected Voldemort to have something concrete in mind that Harry would just have to be happy about no matter what it was. To be suddenly faced with unlimited possibilities -for after experiencing Voldemort's power, he was sure that there was very little the man couldn't manage- was a bit much. An embarrassing thought fluttered through him, his body craving to feel more of that magic, to curl up to Voldemort and bask in the rush of power that would flow through his mind.

''I wish to return,'' he suddenly spoke, mouth faster than his brain, a major flaw that he suffered from more often.

''Return?'' Voldemort inquired.

Harry fumbled with a loose thread on his jeans, not meeting the man's eyes. ''You said that I should stay away, to be Harry Potter again and not mingle in any fights. I can deal with that. However, I would very much like to... to do this again. Hang out, talk to you..''

~Feel me?~Voldemort hissed, the sly grin with which it was said clearly audible.

Harry pressed his lips together, at least glad for the fact that it hadn't been spoken in English. Then again, Barty's expression, a mixture of suspicion and mirth did not ensure Harry that he hadn't known what Voldemort had just said after all.

''That too maybe,'' he mumbled. His heart was hammering in his chest now. ''It was also great to learn of the existence of so much magic that I had never even dreamt of. I wish to spend my next summer here again instead of being stuck at the Dursleys.''

Voldemort hummed and Harry was, for a moment, afraid that it would be denied. His breath rushed out in relief when the man spoke: ''You'd better keep in touch with dear Mademoiselle Étourneau then, we may need her mind again next summer. Your desire shall be granted. Go to sleep now, you will need a clear mind to keep strong under the interrogation of your trip that will surely follow. Considering how little time is left, it would be wise to leave tomorrow around nine. Your owl shall of course be returned to you by morning. You can also have this back.'' An impossibly long arm extended towards Harry, balancing a wand of holly on top of two smooth finger pads. Smiling, Harry reached out for it, sighing as the wand greeted its master with warm sparks of magic. He held it close to his chest. ''You ought to take better care of it though, the varnish is quite worn. Wands are fickle things, it might turn on you if you neglect it.'' Surprised, Harry looked up, having never thought much about it.

''Ah, thank you,'' he spoke awkwardly. ''I suppose I will... go then, yeah. 'Night.'' He got up from the cosy, warm rug, not really feeling like spending the last night separated from the others, no matter how much of a safe haven his bedroom had become. Not when the room was heavy with magic hat emanated from the Dark Lord. As he walked past the couch, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, making Harry yelp as he was dragged back on a suddenly much longer sofa. He only had time to briefly glimpse Voldemort's smug smile before he was lost again in streams of power.

''Silly child, sleep,'' the man said fondly, although the words barely reached Harry in his delirious happy place. ''He's such an bumbling little thing sometimes. Don't you agree, Bartemius? This place will be so lacklustre without the both of you, I envy you.''

''I'm sure he'll miss you too, my Lord,'' Barty smiled sadly, speaking not only for Harry.

I hope you all liked the chapter, it certainly was one of my favourites to write :3 I somehow can't believe that in the ten years that I've written HPLV fanfiction, I never really got around to writing the resurrection ritual as far as I can remember... And neither the fourth year despite Goblet of Fire being -in my humble opinion- the best book of the series. Please leave a review to let me know what your thoughts are!